Been on my back for the past few days, wrestling with oftentimes excruciating abdominal pain. Perhaps a bug, perhaps my chaotic diet of late is the culprit; but whatever the source, it hurt like a motherfucker. There were moments when I dreamed of death, and believe saw it through my agony. I don't know if it's brain chemicals or something ethereal, but the cliché holds true: there is peace in death. Nonexistence, an immortal light, tough to say what kind of peace awaits us all. I got a smattering of both. The final mystery, indeed.
I'm better today, not 100% but able to walk upright without doubling over. I'm due for a physical, the medical world's version of dart throwing, as one never knows what'll get missed or misdiagnosed. You've heard the horror stories, I'm sure. Still, apart from waving snakes or trying to wish or pray away maladies, what are you going to do?
I have thoughts about HBO's John Adams series, the ongoing political turmoil in Detroit and the not-so veiled racist attacks on Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick (no saint, either), among other topics. But today I must rest, and view this samsara world through tired eyes.